


dash

by Mercia



Series: Femslash February 2019 [14]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Canon Divergence - Episode: s03e05 4722 Hours, Episode: s03e05 4722 Hours, F/F, Femslash February, Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-10-29 02:14:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17799182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mercia/pseuds/Mercia
Summary: A few things Daisy knows:Jemma is still aliveIt's Valentine's dayHer arm hurtsJemma isstill alive.





	dash

**Author's Note:**

> yea another s3 canon divergence i just miss before when fitzsimmons was platonic and will wasn't there
> 
> also trip is still alive here yeet

A few things Daisy knows:

  1. Jemma is still alive
  2. It's Valentine's day
  3. Her arm hurts
  4. Jemma is _still alive._



She's not delusional, she swears it. She can prove it. Even though she hasn't seen Jemma in months and she doesn't know where she is.

Her arm hurts and her ribs and the heels of her feet. Daisy hasn't been on any very strenuous missions lately, so the phantom pains can only mean the coming from the bond. So, Jemma is still alive. Even if Daisy can’t be sure of her health, considering how achy she feels nowadays.

It’s been so long, though, and sometimes Daisy thinks its just her imagination, her brain just trying to give her false hope. Almost everyone else does.

She notices the long looks they give her, sees how they glance shiftily at each other when she tells them Jemma has to be alive, somewhere, she _has_ to. Daisy doesn’t think she can believe anything else.

Valentine’s day stops for no one, not even people who have lost their soulmates (especially not them), although, to be fair, not many people stop for Valentine’s day either. It’s not even a public holiday or anything, and restaurants and cinemas and basically everywhere else are even busier than usual. Daisy herself has just come back from a mission, fixedly ignoring the couples in the base, Bobbi and Hunter being not-subtle-or-quiet-at-all, Mack has fixed up his workspace with too many fairy lights and roses and has prepared a meal for Elena, Trip and Fitz cuddled up in the communal area with popcorn and alcohol and _Brooklyn Nine-Nine,_ hell, even May and Coulson are skype calling Dr Garner.

Daisy is taking a bath with those cool, galaxy bath-bombs from Lush and eating discount chocolates from Bargain Buys, and trying very, very hard not to cry. The bathroom is brightly lit, there’s the bathtub which she’s currently sitting in, the sink, the toilet, some towels slung over the towel rack, the laundry hamper, a few of Jemma’s hastily scribbled post-it notes, equations or little reminders, still stuck to the mirror, and, randomly, a laminated poster which says, in brightly coloured lettering: Morse Code for Dummies!

That was from when, a while back, Daisy had thought things were finally settling down, for some reason. Which sounds silly now. It had been a gift from Jemma, after she’d confessed trying to communicate with Daisy as a child using it.

The thought makes Daisy pause, chocolate halfway to her lips, the bath water already cooling down to slightly tepid.

They’d laughed about it at the time — well, Daisy had laughed, and Jemma had flushed embarrassed, and then Daisy had kissed her — but, how crazy of an idea was it? Jemma was a genius, after all, even though she’d been a kid at the time.

It’s worth a try. Daisy doesn’t have anything left to lose, after all.

* * *

 

As much as the essentially barren planet scares her, hauntingly blue and dim and empty, save for the monsters, it’s Jemma’s nnewfoundshelter which really gives her the creeps.

The Bunker, is what she calls it. She’d found it a few weeks back — if they can be called days, that is, because Jemma hasn’t seen the sun once — tripping on its heavy metal trap door. It had been the closest thing she’d seen to man-made, or some sign of intelligent life, so she’d followed it down. It was better than above anyway.

Miraculously, there is power here, though Jemma tries to ration the slowly depleting battery. There are ancient computers and NASA paraphernalia and all sorts of blueprints and diagrams pinned to the walls and littered on the desks. Neatly put away astronaut suits, books, dreadfully out of date rat-packs, pots and pans and gas stoves with no gas. In a side room, there’s a dry tap and what Jemma assumes were a toilet and shower, and in another, larger room, what must have been sleeping quarters.

Jemma is sitting on one of six empty beds, the one that seemed cleanest, flicking through the notes leftover, written, thankfully, in English. It’s strange how haphazardly everything is left out, not organized or packed away at all, the thin bed sheets were not even folded or made when she’d first seen them.

Briefly, she wonders what happened to them, and then immediately wishes she hadn’t.

There’s a cup of stale water from the canteens she found on a stool next to her, and she reaches over to get it when there’s suddenly a sharp, pain on the palm of her hand.

Immediately, Jemma is on her feet, the crudely made shiv held tightly in front of her, at the ready. Her heart beats wildly in her chest.

The pain comes again, short, minute but sharp, almost like a fingernail jabbing at it particularly hard. And again. And—

Oh.

She knows when it’s Skye’s pain after a mission and her joints hurt so much she can’t get out of bed, or her shoulder feels like it’s been stabbed, and this is… this is not that.

The pricking comes steadily, like a slow, deliberate rhythm.

Jemma could laugh. She could cry.

_J-E-M-M-A-J-E-M-M-A-J-E-M-M-A-J-E-M-M-A-J-E-M-M-A-J-E-M-M-A-J-E-M-M-A-J-E-M-M-A_

_J-E-M-M-A-J-E-M-M-A-_

Her clever, clever soulmate.

She puts down the shiv, and holds open her opposite hand.  
  
_S-K-Y-E_ , she replies.

**Author's Note:**

> prompt me p l s  
> <3


End file.
